


An Adventure

by dashwood



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Admiral!Reddington, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Character Development, Criminal!Liz, F/M, mention of past Elizabeth Keen/Tom Keen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashwood/pseuds/dashwood
Summary: Former Quantico trainee Elizabeth Keen has eluded capture for years. But now, she suddenly surrenders to the FBI with an offer to help catch some of the most elusive and dangerous criminals. The catch? She speaks only to Admiral Raymond Reddington.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a short snippet for my Merry Happy collection, but then it sort of started developing a mind of its own, and here we are now. There are some major differences to canon, and I dropped several storylines which play a bigger part in the series. I just couldn't figure out a way to properly fit them into this universe. That being said, I hope this story works out anyway.

Staring absently at the bleak walls of his little down-in-the-far-end-corner office, Reddington thinks that this is the stuff stories are made of.

Because - just think about it - aren’t there an awful lot of epic tales that essentially start off with an extraordinarily ordinary man stuck in a dead-end job who unexpectedly embarks on a remarkable journey, never to return again?

Reddington looks at the door, more than a little hopeful. He waits one beat, two beats.

Nothing.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Reddington turns back to his computer. Of course there are no new notifications, no new memo or mail or - he suppresses a growl at the infernal blinking of his answering machine. It’s still announcing the same message ( - _wrong number, sorry to bother you_ -) he had already tried (and failed) to delete when he had returned from his latest trip to visit his daughter weeks ago. Now the glaring light is nothing but an annoying flicker, incessantly mocking him from the corner of his eye.

Red and pointless.

Just like him.

Deciding once again to be the bigger man and ignore the answering machine - as always -, Reddington turns away and briefly wonders if now would be a good time to pick up that crumpled-up ball of paper lying two inches beside the waste basket.

Or maybe he could call Jennifer and ask her about her day instead?

With a fond smile tugging at his lips, Reddington reaches out and gently touches his fingers to the framed photograph of his daughter that sits proudly on his desk. Maybe he could visit her again over the holidays - she was always working too hard, but maybe he could pester her into taking some time off. Make sure she is alright, that she eats enough.

Suddenly, there is a loud noise which Reddington immediately identifies as the heavy door at the end of the corridor falling back into its lock, and for one short, impossibly sweet moment, he sits up a bit straighter in his chair, silently wondering if this is it - if _something_ is finally happening.

Afraid to miss even the smallest flicker of a possible adventure coming his way, Reddington keeps his eyes glued firmly to the door and watches as a young man storms -- right past his office. As soon as he is out of sight again, Reddington exhales the breath he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging in disappointment. It’s a testament to his life that this is still the most exciting thing that has happened to him all week.

Dejectedly, Reddington turns back to his computer. He’s just about to check his e-mails for the fourteenth time that day when the man reappears in the doorway to his office, looking slightly incredulous even as he catches his breath.

“I thought this was a broom closet.”

“It’s not.”

The stranger gives a thoughtful nod of his head as if considering this information. There’s a look of barely-concealed distaste on his face, and Reddington instantly dislikes him.

The silence stretches between them – glaringly loud und uncomfortable, and Reddington silently wonders if this whole situation is merely bothersome or possibly exciting. Eventually, the newcomer collects his bearing. With an annoyed scoff that sounds vaguely as if he has trouble believing that he is currently in a dusty little corner-office instead of some high-class military base, the man drags his eyes away from the stack of papers towering pitifully against the office door to hold it open to address Reddington directly.

“Admiral Reddington. Donald Ressler. Washington field office. I need you to come with me right away.”

 

\--

 

And that’s how Raymond Reddington gets his adventure after all.

 

\--

 

Next to him, Assistant Director Cooper is filling him in on recent events, but he might as well be speaking in a different language, the words sounding distant and blurred to Reddington’s muddled mind.

Right now, it is hard to focus on anything in particular; there is just too much that’s happening around him. Armed guards in military gear are flanking his left and right, terror-stricken interns are hurrying past him and leaving a trail of paperwork in their wake. Lights are flashing and sirens are shrieking and keyboards are a-tapping.

Around him, it’s an ever-increasing cacophony of panic.

And amidst it all is Elizabeth Keen.

Even though everyone in the makeshift Blacksite seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown, she remains calm and levelheaded, sitting perched elegantly on a chair inside the Box, and for some reason Reddington can’t quite shake the impression that there is something regal about her.

A queen directing her subjects.

The image stays with him even as he slowly descends the stairs towards the Box. His limbs feel surprisingly heavy as if he’s wading through water, and yet he keeps his course like an old ship that follows the brightest star.

Surprisingly, it’s her eyes that keep him grounded. If he can just focus on them, so piercing and blue and yes, Reddington thinks, this is what had made him enlist with the navy in the first place - the wide, open sea. Dangerous and unforgiving.

A harsh mistress.

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what one could _possibly_ say in a situation like this. To Reddington, it feels like there are a million different words in the English language, yet not a single one of them could conceivably describe the scope of what was happening right here, right now.

In the end, he just smiles stiffly.

“Well, I’m here.”

“Hmmhm.”

His face falls at her apparent disinterest. Naively, he had thought that she would just launch into an explanation as to why she is here - why she asked specifically for _him_. But instead she stays silent, and with every second that ticks by, Reddington finds himself wavering under her intent stare, fearing that maybe there has been a horrible mistake and she expected someone else - someone impressive and worthy of her attention.

Swallowing his fears, Reddington keeps pressing further. “You seem disappointed?”

The amused giggle that spills momentarily from her lips takes him by surprise. It sounds so warm, so vibrant, and so exceptionally fond despite the direness of their current situation.

It does wonders to soothe his fluttering nerves, too.

Elizabeth shakes her head, her hands twisting in her lap and Reddington finds his gaze inevitably drawn to the raised scar tissue on her right wrist. Strangely, he feels as if he has seen it before, that he knows exactly what it would feel like under his fingers.

“Well, if I’m honest…” She begins, nonchalantly shrugs her shoulders even as her lips quirk into a teasing smirk. “I was sort of hoping you’d be wearing a uniform.”

Reddington doesn’t need a mirror to know that he’s blushing like an overeager schoolboy on his first date. Their conversation is just the same, too: awkward and clumsy, and as much as he’s trying not to mess this up, it isn’t quite that easy either, because Elizabeth is so young and fit and ruthlessly brilliant, and yet for some unfathomable reason she asked specifically for _him_.

(Try as he might, he can’t quite wrap his head around that.)

And because the question lingers on the tip of the tongue, tasting vaguely bitter and yet so sweet, Reddington asks her.

“Why me?”

She shrugs, her smile slightly askew. “If anyone can lead me to the truth it’s you.”

 

\--

 

Secretly, Reddington thinks that as far as first impressions go, Elizabeth made quite a good one on him. In fact, he’d say that he’s rather taken by her. That he is looking forward to working with her.

He’s even willing to lead her to the truth - whatever that might mean.

But then the tide changes - unexpectedly and irreversibly. Jennifer calls him, hysterical and close to hyperventilating, and it takes him a few frightful moments to make sense of her jumbled words.

But even then it still doesn’t make any sense. Because if he understands her right, then his ex-wife has been attacked by a psychopathic killer who - of course - should turn out to be none other than Ranko Zamani, the man Elizabeth had so graciously promised to deliver to the FBI.

And it’s true that Reddington doesn’t feel any more than friendship for Carla now, but that doesn’t make this any more acceptable by any means. Because this could easily tip the scale and make them send her away - put her in witness protection, most likely. As far as he knows, Carla Reddington could soon be someone else, somewhere else.

Never to be seen again.

So understandably, Reddington is livid then. Especially when Elizabeth just shrugs her shoulders and flutters her eyelashes - a look of false innocence plastered all over her face. It’s positively infuriating, and Reddington can feel his blood starting to boil. Does she even know what he feels like right now? Ashamed and betrayed and - most of all - like a complete fool.

It’s his own fault, he mentally berates himself. He simply should have known better than to expect anything else from Number 4 on the FBI’s Most Wanted List.

“I didn’t know she’s your wife.” Elizabeth says indignantly.

“ _Ex_ -wife.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Reddington cringes in embarrassment. What a truly ridiculous and pathetic thing to say - as if there was any reason to emphasize his relationship status (or the glaring lack thereof) to the woman who had only mere hours ago tried to have his former spouse killed.

A pregnant silence stretches between them, and once again Reddington’s thoughts return to that one question burning relentlessly in his mind.

“Why me?” He asks quietly, his voice almost inaudible. He isn’t sure if he is lacking the strength to put up a fight, or if he is simply indulging the selfish need to have her entire attention focused solely on him. “Why did you pick me? Was it because of Carla? Because of my wife?”

“ _Ex_ -wife.” She corrects with a mischievous spark in her eyes. “That one was a mistake on my part. It won’t happen again - you have my word on that. I’m not here to harm you or your family, Red. I’m simply looking for the truth. And I hope that you will help me find it.”

Reddington scrunches up his face, wondering if Elizabeth is aware that she’s not making any sense.

But - looking at her hopeful smile and the bright gleam in her eyes - Reddington can’t find it in himself to care. Because so what if she has somehow mistaken him for someone who can steer her towards whatever answers she hopes to find? He’s willing enough to go along with it.

Hopefully, it will take her some time to figure out that he is quite useless when it comes to helping others (hell, he has enough trouble keeping himself on the right track most days). And until then, Reddington will make sure that she upholds her promise to the FBI.

 

\--

 

Despite Zamani, and his ex-wife, and the smears of blood that will be almost impossible to get out of his suit, they really _do_ make a great time, just like she said. And so what if it took a bomb secured to a pink princess rucksack - respective child attached - to figure that one out.

Her words are still ringing in his head when he goes to bed, fatigue and exhaustion clearly palpable in every single one of his weary, old bones. And yet there’s a content smile on his face just before he drifts off to sleep.

_We’re gonna make a great team_.

 

\--

 

His adventures continue on.

There is a train derailment and a threat of more to come, a romantic little restaurant in Montreal, and _You can be my older boyfriend from Ann Arbor_. 

Next, there is a secret bunker hidden away miles beneath the Earth’s surface, a pair of black-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose that are supposed to make him look like a professional computer hacker rather than a government official past his prime - shoved out of the way of the next generation, of the young and lithe, and directly behind a desk until they can finally send him into retirement. There is an accusation of betrayal (rightfully so) and a dying body writhing on the floor.

There is _I have you_.

And then there is the Stewmaker, an escaped drug lord, and a biting stench of chemicals that still makes his eyes tear up whenever he thinks about it. Still, the smell is nothing compared to the feeling of unimaginable helplessness as he is slowly slipping in and out of consciousness - only to wake up to her face smiling sincerely up at him, an indescribable warmth spreading through his every fiber. 

 

\--

 

Frowning, Reddington looks from the address scribbled hastily onto the back of his hand to the towering building in front of him.

Elizabeth had ordered him to a small shop somewhere in the finer parts of D.C. - a haberdashery, nonetheless. Before now, Reddington hadn’t been sure those even existed outside of 18th-century novels.

As soon as he steps out of his car, she’s there to greet him. Her smile is bright and beaming as if she’s actually happy to see him, and once again Reddington finds himself wondering why she chose him specifically. So far, there hadn't been a single interaction between them that hadn't thrown him off-kilter; every moment and word and glance reminding him of her vivacity, of her vibrancy which clashes irrevocably with the garish mundanity that had become his life.

“Red!”

She’s the only one who calls him that - no matter how often he tells her that she should at least make a concentrated effort to make it look like they aren’t at the center of some illicit love affair. It would probably be better for all involved if she'd just stick to rules and conventions for once, and call him Admiral or Mr. Reddington.

(But she never listens.)

“I’m so glad you could make it on such short notice. My usual driver has some errands to run and I need a ride back to my safehouse.”

He scoffs in barely-concealed annoyance. “Please tell me you didn't just call me away from work just so you wouldn't have to take a cab.”

She shrugs her shoulders, looking a bit nonplussed; and he’s just about to tell her that he’s going back to the Post Office and that she can take a bus for all he cares, when two men emerge from the shop, their hands packed stack-high with expensive looking boxes draped in black velvet and violet satin.

“Right this way, gentlemen!” With another bright - if slightly manic - smile, Elizabeth turns away from him to direct the men to his car, and Reddington watches in disbelief as they pop open the trunk and carefully tetris the boxes inside.

“What are- Hey!” Even to his own ears his protests sound weak and half-hearted at best. But then, he knows he doesn’t stand a chance against her anyway, so instead he just hopes that she’s not using him as an unwitting courier for stolen weapons or smuggled art.

(Again.)

Sighing in defeat, Reddington watches as Elizabeth slips smoothly into the passenger seat of his beat-up Mercedes, her elegant Chanel dress suit looking vaguely out of place against the pitiful backdrop of his empty to-go coffee cups and Jennifer’s yoga gear stuffed carelessly into the foot space from when she had last borrowed his car. All of a sudden, he feels a hot-red flash of embarrassment run through him, prompting him to quickly lean over Elizabeth's lithe form to at least attempt to make some room for her, sweeping some errant paperwork together before throwing it mindlessly onto the backseat. 

Elizabeth just laughs at him. “It’s okay, Red. Don’t worry about it. Just get in already - we have work to do.”

He stops dead in his tracks at that, and – suddenly realizing that he’s still leaning over her, their faces barely an inch apart (and if he wanted to he could easily count the coal-black lashes framing her piercing eyes) - he hastily straightens up. 

(He just barely manages to keep his head from knocking against the roof of the car, and one quick glance at Elizabeth’s barely suppressed smirk tells him that she noticed it too.)

“Work? I thought you called me here because you needed a ride.”

“Why do work and pleasure have to be mutually exclusive with you?”

He ignored her comment and with a roll of his eyes, Reddington silently closes the passenger door and rounds the car to slide into the driver's seat. 

Meanwhile, the two men seem to have finished loading the trunk of his car with god-knows-what, and Reddington watches as they disappear back into the shop before he finally starts the car and slips it back into the passing traffic. 

It's only a moment later that Elizabeth turns to him with a serious look on her face (and all of a sudden his breath hitches in his throat as Reddington realizes that this is what she would have looked like had she stuck with her training at Quantico and pursued a career on the right side of the law – resolute and determined) and begins to tell him about a man called “the Courier”. Reddington listens attentively, all the while marveling at the picture she paints of a man who uses his own body like an instrument. 

Once he pulls up outside her latest safehouse she has finished her sinister tale of a messenger-gone-wrong and a comfortable silence has settled over them. 

In one quick movement, Elizabeth slips out of the car, but he stops her just as she's about to close the door. Slowly, she leans down to look at him from outside his car. Reddington resolutely keeps his eyes glued on her face to stop himself from looking at her cleavage, and if the upward twitch of her lips is anything to go by his struggle hasn't gone unnoticed by her. 

“Yes?”

“You forgot your things. In the trunk?”

“Oh, yes!” Slowly, a smile spreads over her face, so stunning and absolutely radiant that Reddington could easily see how she had made it into the FBI's top five – surely no one would be able to resist that smile and charms for long.

"Those aren't mine. They're yours."

It takes his brain a few seconds to catch up with her words. 

“You’ve…,” he starts but stops abruptly when his words come out a bit gruff. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “You’ve bought me something?”

Elizabeth shrugs her shoulders, the gesture seeming overly nonchalant.

“Actually, I'm just being selfish here. I’m hoping a nice fedora will distract from those awfully cheap ties you’re always wearing. Maybe we could do something about them next - add a few Zegna ties to your collection.”

She pauses, bites her lip in contemplation as if she’s mentally (un)dressing him, and Reddington can feel himself flush under her unwavering attention. Eventually she shakes her head in what he assumes to be an attempt to clear her thoughts, and Reddington can't quite shake the impression that she looks like she is just coming back from a particularly pleasant daydream.

“I’ll be off then. Thanks for the ride. Keep me up to date with the Courier.”

She slams the door shut before he can say anything else to prolong their conversation.

 

\--

 

When Reddington brings the Courier in later that day - handcuffed and bleeding at the seams (quite literally) - one of Elizabeth’s fedoras is drawn low in his eyes.

 

\--

 

Reddington and Donald spend the next week chasing a Blacklister from one naïve suitor’s hotel room to the next. She’s a dangerous terrorist - beautiful but destructive. Or maybe that should be an _and_ because he only needs to look at Elizabeth to know that beauty and danger aren’t so much a contradiction in terms as a fatally compelling combination.

Afterwards comes a chemical explosion in a subway, the outbreak of a deadly virus, and a desperate man who would do anything just to make someone _listen_.

Reddington shoots someone that day, and the feeling of crushing guilt and doubt is still clinging to him when he meets Elizabeth outside the Blacklister’s home. All around them, police sirens are flashing in bright hues, and the constant shift of light dancing over her features makes her look strangely alien.

“You’re surprisingly calm for someone who just shot a man.” She says, and despite the apparent coldness in her voice he can tell that she’s worried about him.

“You know, even though you’ve brought all of… _this_ into my life… I don’t regret any of it. I don’t…” He trails off, the words seemingly escaping him. Somehow, he can’t find the right words to tell her just how much all of this this means to him, this second chance she offered him.

This adventure.

“Barnes - he was willing to burn the whole world down to protect the one person he cared about. I’m starting to see what that feels like.”

Looking at Elizabeth, the police lights coloring her eyes blue and red and blue again, Reddington thinks that she has never looked more beautiful than in this moment.

 

\--

 

Nowadays, his answering machine is blinking with dozens of new messages.

He knows that Jennifer is worried about him and he vows to call her once he gets back home. But for now there are Blacklisters to catch; a man who is actually several men, and a stolen hard drive with sensitive information - which isn’t so much returned to the US government as it finds its way into Elizabeth’s pocket.

 

\--

 

It’s a bleak Monday morning and Reddington would have given anything to stay in bed all day.

Technically, it’s his day off too, what with Elizabeth spending the weekend in Germany and the taskforce out on a well-deserved mini-vacation. But somehow Jennifer had managed to sneak into the Blacksite and was now impatiently waiting for him to pick her up.

It’s his own fault, really. He should have just called her more often, but instead he kept on sending her half-finished e-mails - either because he accidentally hit the send-button too soon or because he had to rush out and thought that half-a-mail was still better than nothing at all.

But apparently Jennifer didn’t agree with that sentiment, because now she had actually taken some time off from work just so she could drive down to Washington D.C. to check on him.

He feels like the worst parent in the world.

(Which – in hindsight – is incredibly funny. Because his day was about to get a lot worse. In fact, it would easily earn him the first place for _worst parent of the year_.)

There seems to be nothing amiss at the Post Office at first. That is, until he gets stuck on an elevator while the violent screaming of machine gunfire is bursting through the Blacksite’s walls all around him. All of a sudden, it’s impossible to think straight because even though he doesn’t know what the hell is going on there is one thing he knows with an unwavering certainty: His daughter is somewhere out there.

The next thirty minutes feel like he is in a trance; climbing out of the elevator, moving aimlessly through the darkened corridors of the Blacksite, heart drumming painfully against his ribcage in what Reddington assumes to be a pitiful attempt to escape this never-ending nightmare.

By now, his body is running solely on adrenaline. But still, it doesn’t matter - nothing matters except for the fact that his daughter is in danger, and he can’t even consider the very real possibility that she might not even be alive anymore, that any moment now he could round a corner and stumble over her lifeless body staring blankly back at him.

But to his immense relief it doesn’t come to that. Instead, Reddington catches a glimpse of her on the security feed of the Box, and all of a sudden the world around him is tilting precariously, as if the floor is ripped out from under his feet. Because Jennifer is locked inside the Box, slowly bleeding to death while their attackers are crawling around her like filthy carrion eaters.

And _god_ , Reddington groans. There is _so_ much blood.

Thankfully, Elizabeth is with her, and later - much later - Reddington will watch the recording of Jennifer’s pain-induced ramblings in the Box with a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks ( _He calls you Lizzy. I think it’s because he doesn’t want me to know that he’s working with_ the _Elizabeth Keen. To him, you’re not some psycho criminal. You’re just Lizzy from work_ ).

So for now, Reddington finds solace in the fact that Elizabeth had the sense and compassion to look out for Jennifer, to make sure that she is alright (or as alright as someone could possibly be during a hostile takeover).

It’s a cold and short comfort though because an instant later, he finds himself outmanned. There are four men aiming their machine guns at him - each one looking more ruthless than the other.

They haul him into the main room, before throwing him unceremoniously onto the floor in front of the Box. He feels his knees hit the stone floor, cold and hard beneath him, and thinks that this is probably where he will die. His body will fall over and land directly next to that ugly stain right over there.

He risks a quick glance at the Box and instantly breathes a sigh of relief. Jennifer seems to have passed out - unconscious, but not dead. Reddington is immensely grateful for it; he couldn’t have bared for her to see him like this - vulnerable and about to have his brain matter smeared all over the already gore-covered glass walls of the Box.

“Give me the code, or he dies.” Garrick barks at Elizabeth, his face twisted into an angry snarl. Reddington is almost sure that she doesn’t know how to open the Box – a suspicion which she silently confirms when she searches for his eyes only moments later.

Reddington’s lips quirk into a wistful smile.

At least his sacrifice - his silence - is enough to keep her and Jennifer safe.

Or so he thought.

Suddenly, there’s the press of cold metal against the back of his head, and Reddington knows that this is the end.

But - looking up at Elizabeth - Reddington couldn’t wish for a more lovely sight to die to. Even if the all-consuming fear in her eyes somewhat dampens the mood, the taste and shape of this moment, Reddington isn’t above pretending that her eyes hold affection - that she treasures the time she spent with him. That maybe - years from now - she will think of him and of all that they have accomplished in their fool-hearted aspiration to make the world a better, safer place.

Her voice drifts through the haze of fear clouding his mind. She is telling him - no, _begging_ him - to give up the code, Reddington realizes.

He can’t though. She must know that he can’t.

With a sad smile tugging at his lips, Reddington gives a slight shake of his head.

But of course it isn’t that easy. Because she is Elizabeth Keen, and she wouldn’t have made it this far without a few dirty tricks up her Chanel dress sleeves. In an instant, she turns on her heels and grabs a gun from the table inside the Box before pointing it directly at Jennifer’s head.

He has never felt this terrified in his entire life.

(For a split second, there are rapid flashes of fire and smoke blurring his vision. Reddington shakes them off.)

And he gives her the codes then - of course he does. He doesn’t know how to do anything else, really. Because his daughter is in there with a psychopathic criminal whom he had unwisely, thoughtlessly trusted. Of whom he had thought of as a friend. As a confidante.

He feels incredibly foolish.

His heart clenches inside his chest as he watches the door open, slowly, surely. Elizabeth steps out, seemingly without a care in the world, and in that moment Reddington hates her with a burning passion.

An instant later, Garrick grabs his arm and Reddington feels himself being pulled to his feet and out of the room. Only that he doesn’t care that he’s probably being led to his certain death because Jennifer is still right there in the Box – its doors hinged open -, his _daughter_ is back there surrounded by bloodthirsty mercenaries and Reddington _can’t breathe_.

Seconds later, they are stumbling through a long tunnel – a man with a scar on his face, a number of hunching goons, a criminal mastermind with blood smears all over her Chanel dress, and Reddington – the broken shell of a man. They must look incredibly absurd to anyone watching, only that no one _is_ watching, there is no one to help them, no cavalry or fortunate turn of fate.

Reddington can feel the dirt and mud soak through his shoes and socks, leaving his feet uncomfortably damp. And it’s silly, he thinks, that out of all that is currently going on his brain should decide to focus on a slight inconvenience like that. Still, it’s better than thinking about Jennifer back in the Box, and _god_ \- He just left his own daughter behind to be slaughtered.

For a moment, his knees buckle beneath his weight, and Reddington wonders if he should just stop fighting back. Surely, it didn’t matter if he died in Garrick’s hideout or in this tunnel.

But a second later, Elizabeth is right beside him, catching his arm and effectively keeping him from slumping down in a dejected heap of aching bones and anguished cries. Nevertheless, he snarls at her touch, forcefully yanks his arm away from her (and tries hard not to wince when the sudden movement causes his elbow to hit against the stone wall to his right). He doesn’t want her to touch him, doesn’t want to feel the warmth of her skin seep through his shirt.

It’s simply too much to ask of him.

Garrick must have noticed their little interaction. His biting laughter echoes forebodingly through the lengthy corridor.

“How dear of you to help him. Daddy’s little girl, aren’t you?”

Reddington’s stomach gives a violent lurch. Never had it occurred to him that this might be a reasonable explanation for their skewed relationship - for why she chose _him_. And it’s true that he had never been unfaithful to Carla, but still, there had been others - before her, and a few dates that came after and it isn’t entirely _im_ possible.

Still, the thought didn’t even cross his mind when they were in Montreal, sharing drinks and first impressions. Not even when - mindful of the other agents’ suspicious eyes and hurtful remarks - he declined the offer to pose as her date for the evening.

Not even when she told him _fine, you can be my father_.

Because Elizabeth doesn’t feel like a daughter to him, but what if she is and what does that make him? Some sick, twisted pervert who has fantasized about taking his own daughter to bed and-

And then she had tried to kill Jennifer, and what was that then - some kind of sick sibling rivalry?

Garrick’s men force them into an ambulance and in the next few minutes, Reddington has to watch as Elizabeth’s tracking chip is forcibly removed from her throat. Secretly, some deprived part of him is glad to see her suffer. There are just too many emotions gnawing at him right now; anger and grief and above it all is an unimaginable feeling of utter betrayal.

Because what if Garrick was right? What if Elizabeth really was-

Although Reddington is unable to look anywhere but her face - blankly taking in the glazed-over expression in her eyes - he almost misses the slight nod of her head towards one of the defibrillators hanging right behind him.

And oh, he thinks.

_Oh_.

She is telling him to _go_ , to get out of here.

To leave her behind.

Suddenly, he feels absolutely awful for doubting her, because this is Elizabeth and even though there is a man currently slicing away at her throat, she still worries about _him_. Swallowing down his guilt, Reddington nods and - using the defibrillator to knock out the goon guarding him, he rolls himself out of the ambulance and-

And surprisingly, everything turns out alright.

Mr. Kaplan - one of Elizabeth’s more intimidating associates - tracks him down and lets him know that Elizabeth has managed to escape Garrick. Reddington tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care, that he’d be more than fine with never laying eyes on Elizabeth again. It doesn’t quite work though, because whenever he spots a woman who even remotely looks like Elizabeth his heart seizes violently in his chest.

Still, sitting at Jennifer’s hospital bed while she is still recovering from the loss of blood, Reddington thinks that he must end this. He can’t keep working with Elizabeth - not if it costs him this much.

Not if she’d turn on the only thing he has left.

But then Jennifer wakes up again, his dark green eyes looking back at him from his daughter’s face - only that hers are less fraught with the exhausting hardships of life. Reflexively, he reaches out to brush an errant strand of hair out of her face - the way he always used to when she was a child.

Jennifer smiles up at him - a bit weakly, and yet so stunningly bright - and seeing her alive and on-her-way-to-well makes the many hours he has spent in this uncomfortable plastic chair well worth it.

“I’m glad I got to meet Lizzy.” Her voice - so soft and hoarse - is barely audible over the constant buzz of the machines, and for a moment Reddington thinks that he couldn’t possibly have heard that right.

“I didn’t like the circumstances of course, but still… Maybe she’d like to get a coffee sometime.”

“How can you even say that?” He bites out, his hands clenching against his thighs. “She almost killed you.”

Jennifer laughs - she _laughs_. “She’d never have hurt me.”

Sobering up, she offers him a reassuring smile as if she were the parent and Reddington her needlessly worrying child. “She told me that if they found you - if they brought you in, she’d threaten to shoot me. To get you to give up the code. She said she’d never harm me, but that she needed to protect you.”

She breathes out a shaky exhale, and when she looks up again there’s a mischievous smile on her face that throws him back to a little girl hiding a crayon behind her back as if to say _those dadaist drawings on the wall couldn’t have possibly been my work_.

“So if you want my blessing…”

 

\--

 

Elizabeth calls him that evening.

Her voice sounds so small, so lost amidst the resounding traffic noises and howling wind, that Reddington feels his heart clench painfully inside his chest.

And he really doesn’t want to, but at the same time it seems like he doesn’t know how _not_ to ask.

Because if anything is worse than hearing the words _I am your daughter_ from the mouth of a woman you have come to cherish, then it’s this purgatory of gnawing doubt and uncertainty he is living in right now.

So he asks her after all, even if the pain is unbearable.

But the longer the silence on the other side of the line stretches the more he feels an invisible hand with sharp claws wrap around his heart and throat, and _squeeze_.

But then she tells him _no_ , and all of a sudden he feels inexplicably light, as if an incredible weight has fallen off his weary shoulders.

Never has denial felt this sweet.

 

\--

 

She disappears for a while and Reddington goes about his life as usual. A trip to his former down-in-the-far-end-corner office leaves him with a small box of assorted trinkets - a framed picture of Jennifer, a dying plant, and a few travel guides about Florida and Mexico he had set aside for particularly slow days at work.

Reddington likes his new office at the Blacksite much better, even if he has to share it with Donald to whom he still hasn’t warmed up completely. And anyway, he much prefers talking to Aram - he is nice and refreshingly genuine, something one doesn’t find too often among the career-hungry sharks at the FBI.

They grab lunch sometime - him and Donald and Aram - and talk about work and sports and things friends usually talk about. Sometimes, they even talk about Elizabeth and it’s all he can do not to let his true feelings show.

He could almost get used to this, he thinks.

But then Elizabeth returns, and with her the Good Samaritan - a man who takes revenge on the victims of domestic abuse.

However, this case is completely different than the ones before. Because for the first time, Reddington has the feeling that this is personal to Elizabeth, that it is close to her heart. At least that is the impression he gets whenever he catches a glimpse of her narrowed eyes - impossibly dark and vengeful - when another one of the domestic abuse victims is revealed.

Even so… While Reddington had expected Elizabeth to possess a certain cruelty, he is nevertheless taken aback by her strong moral compass, the eagerness to see those responsible for these crimes punished.

But he is even more surprised by his own…  _hunger_ for justice. Because looking back at these monsters who have hurt the women they claim to love, Reddington feels an unimaginable wrath coiling up inside of him, eating him alive.

And for the first time, Reddington thinks that maybe the law he has sworn to uphold so many years ago isn’t infallible after all.

 

\--

 

Next up is a plane crash and a batch of modified DNA, the perfect all-round care-package for wealthy men and women who want to escape their former life of crime. Indefinitely.

But then there’s also Jolene Parker who is as sweet as she is lovely, and Reddington thinks that just because there is no chance of a relationship with Elizabeth that doesn’t mean that he’ll have to turn down anyone else who shows an interest in him.

So he takes her out to dinner, even though gruesome images of abducted women used as dystopian breeding machines are swirling around his head - courtesy of Elizabeth’s latest Blacklister.

(In hindsight, Reddington realizes that this case was probably fate’s way of telling him to stay away from Jolene.)

 

\--

 

Tom Keen takes him by surprise.

Because of course Reddington has read the files, has seen pictures and grainy security camera footage of Keen and Elizabeth. Hell, Tom Keen is right there in Elizabeth’s name, a constant reminder that they have a shared history. A part of him that is with her, always.

Reddington simply hadn’t expected him to be this young and lithe, and so ruthlessly brilliant in his own twisted sort of way.

But the worst thing by far is how Elizabeth seems to light up whenever she speaks about him.

(It’s all Reddington can do not to throw up whenever she mentions his name.)

And yet.

A small part of him derives an immeasurable amount of hope from the fact that Elizabeth has added Keen to her Blacklist of criminals. Because surely that means that she is willing to move on? To see Tom Keen locked away for good. To see him punished for his crimes?

The thought stays with him even when Elizabeth accompanies him to the Syrian embassy. The whole evening is a bit enchanting, really. He is wearing a tux (Reddington can barely remember the last time he had worn one - probably on his wedding day) and she is wearing a flowing red dress which leaves him speechless for just the tiniest of moments.

And the fact that she is _his_ date for the evening, that he is free to smile and touch and dance - it’s enough to make him _preen_ in proud delight, his chest puffed out like a peacock.

He’d feel foolish if he weren’t so damn happy.

But then Keen appears, his voice nothing but an irritated growl when he asks to cut in. The way the smile instantly falls from Elizabeth’s face like a mask tumbling to the ground is almost enough to make Reddington lash out at Keen. He can’t though. Because this is _work_ and he has a part to play.

So he just offers Keen a forced smile before turning away from them to complete his own little mission. After all, he has a safe to open and an antique statue to steal.

Still, he almost falters in his steps when Keen’s next words reach him - spoken just loud enough to be heard over the low hum of chatter and music.

“He’s a bit old for you.”

(Elizabeth’s nonchalant _you think_ doesn’t do anything to soothe his ruffled feathers either.)

Maybe it’s the annoyance rising up in him that is causing Reddington to be a little bolder, a bit more reckless, when he determinedly wanders off.

 

\--

 

Keen double-crosses them.

There is an empty safe and armed guards, and when Reddington finds himself sitting handcuffed on a chair in the middle of the entrance hall, he inwardly marvels at his own stupidity for ever believing that this could have possibly turned out any other way.

In the end, Keen escapes - of course he does. Reddington can barely contain his anger as he wonders if this is what Elizabeth had planned all along, if maybe she was merely stringing the FBI along to laugh at their clumsy efforts to capture her ex-husband.

(Inwardly, Reddington thinks that all of this was inevitable. That Elizabeth let him go simply because she doesn’t know how to do anything else. That no matter the circumstances, Elizabeth Keen will always let Tom Keen slip away. Reddington can’t decide if he pities her for that, or if maybe it is exactly this kind of devotion that he secretly craves from her.)

Still, it’s _him_ he seeks out after the news of Keen’s escape, and Reddington takes it as a consolation.

A not-quite apology.

Reddington keeps his eyes on her as she wanders around his living room, and it isn’t until she comments on the framed pictures sitting in a neat row on his fireplace that he realizes that this is the first time she’s been to his place.

It’s strangely intimate, Reddington thinks. To see her in his home, his most personal space.

Elizabeth looks at his photographs like he looks at Elizabeth. Like they are the most fascinating thing in the world - a treasure to behold. And because Reddington studies her so intently, so devotedly, he immediately recognizes her uneasiness. It’s in the way her fingers keep brushing over the scar on her wrist, so comfortingly hypnotic. Her only tell.

Reddington watches as she distractedly raises her hand to tug at the collar of her dress. It’s a subconscious gesture that makes him briefly wonder if the material itches against her skin, if it’s scratchy and rough.

(If maybe she would feel better taking it off.)

He’s just about to ask her if something is wrong, if she is alright, when all of a sudden his blood runs cold. Because right there - right beneath her silken collar - shimmers a purple bruise, the vicious mark of fingers biting into skin - violently, unlovingly.

At his sides, his hands clench into fists. The lingering knowledge that Tom Keen got away is simple unbearable in this moment, and it is awakening something raw and unforgiving inside of him.

Reddington has never felt a hatred so intense.

He wants desperately to say something - anything - to comfort her. But before his mouth can even form the words, Elizabeth whirls around and bolts out of the room, a mumbled excuse spilling past her trembling lips.

Frowning, Reddington turns towards the picture she had looked at before she had so abruptly fled the room.

It’s a picture of him and Carla at some military function or other, smiling back at him from twenty years ago.

 

\--

 

On the one side, there’s a loving husband who forgot himself and returned to his mourning family after twelve years of absence. On the other is a man enacting his own law. The case starts off as trying and close to unsolvable, and of course it only goes downhill from there: Cooper is abducted, and if Elizabeth is right then the Judge will hold him accountable for an interrogation-gone-wrong that inevitably led to the execution of a young man.

It’s a race against time, but Reddington is willing to do anything to save Cooper’s life. Even if it means returning to a military outpost to track down a former colleague who might have valuable information. For some reason, the whole trip makes him incredibly uneasy, and Reddington thinks that it must be because it’s a brush with his past, a curious little touch-and-go-and-don’t-think-back kind of moment.

Some part deep down inside of him wishes - foolishly, helplessly - that he could have asked Elizabeth to accompany him. He thinks he would have felt more confident with her by his side.

But of course that would have been beyond ridiculous. After all, Elizabeth is a wanted fugitive who would do well to stay away from military and government-issued sites. Plus, the whole visit lasts barely five minutes, anyway, a time span in which Elizabeth can probably do a lot of threatening and blackmailing and money-laundering.

Still, in the end, Reddington gets the right information, the one that will hopefully save Cooper’s life (for now, at least).

Reddington turns on his heels and is just about to hurry back to his car when Richard calls him back.

“You know,” he says, his tone a bit hesitant and yet Reddington imagines that he detects something he hasn’t heard in a long time - awe and appreciation.

Respect.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, what with the…” he trails off, mimes lifting a hat, and Reddington subconsciously touches his fingers to the fedora’s brim.

“It looks good on you though. _You_ look good.”

 

\--

 

Cooper is back at the Post Office, and life continues just the same it always does.

Their next Blacklister comes with an unpleasant taste and a cutting feeling of inadequateness biting away at his insides. Because for the first time, Elizabeth doesn’t relay her information to _him_. Instead she turns to Donald, and not even the circumstance that the case seems to be close to his heart can ease the pangs of jealousy clawing at his heart.

(Secretly, Reddington can’t help but wonder if Elizabeth’s sudden lack of attention has anything to do with his budding relationship with Jolene.)

 

\--

 

When Donald’s fiancée is killed in the pursuit of their Blacklister, Reddington breaks up with Jolene.

It was foolish to think that his job with the FBI would allow for a relationship that isn’t built on violence and lies.

 

\--

 

Donald takes a few days off, and of course Reddington doesn’t begrudge him his break even if they could have duly used his help.

Elizabeth doesn’t care that they are short on manpower, just brings him the next Blacklister as if the FBI were her faithful dog and she’d loathe to disappoint by not throwing sufficient bones their way.

This time, there’s a young, misguided boy with a laptop and the harmful belief that he is entitled to have his love requited. It’s the beginning to an old cautionary tale, and of course it inevitably leads to the deaths of innocent bystanders.

Their next case begins in a small café where Elizabeth encourages him to try the pecan pie with the sweetest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips. She’s sitting so close to him, their knees bumping every now and then under the table. He is almost tempted to pretend that they are two lovers enjoying their lunch break away from work.

But of course happiness never lasts long in their lives.

Jolene shows up just as Elizabeth is about to tell him about #135, Milton Bobbit - an insurance agent of the worst sort. Her dark eyes are noticeably rimmed in red when she begs him to take her back, and Reddington cringes at the broken coarseness of her voice.

The whole situation leaves him feeling incredibly flustered and he desperately wishes that all of this could have happened somewhere else - anywhere else. Preferably when Elizabeth wasn’t there to witness it.

But then again…

Something inside of him preens at the look of jealousy on Elizabeth’s face.

 

\--

 

“I’ve got something for you.”

She had sounded so ominous when she had called to arrange a meeting with him earlier that day, and by now Reddington knows better than to expect normalcy from her. So he hopes for the best - maybe another addition to his wardrobe - but inwardly fears that he’s bound to find something bloodier and gore-spitting instead.

(In this regard Elizabeth reminds him of a proud feline - constantly leaving dead animals at his doorstep.)

Elizabeth opens the door herself, and a quick look around the room lets him know that her right-hand man of the day isn’t anywhere nearby.

“So, what did you get me this time?” He asks cheerfully, trying not to betray his uneasiness. Elizabeth is just staring at her phone, and he wonders if she’s purposely avoiding his eyes.

“Is it another hat? Because I’m rather happy with the ones you got me-”

He stops dead when he rounds the corner and sees Jolene - gagged and bound.

(And it’s absurd - completely laughable and ludicrous, really. But the first thought that crosses his mind at the sight is that maybe Elizabeth’s jealousy wasn’t quite as endearing as he had previously thought.)

As it turns out, Jolene didn’t so much like _him_ as the money she was offered in exchange for pretending to like him.

And the way she talks about it all - her tone so matter-of-fact as if she were discussing something trivial like the weather or her favorite color - is so obscure to him. Because how can she possibly feel nothing at any of this when he feels this worthless and dirty?

Jolene - Lucy Brooks, actually - is still answering Elizabeth’s questions when Reddington leaves the room. It hurts too much to stay and listen to her excuses, so he just slumps down on the couch in the bedroom and stares out the window while wave after wave of shame and embarrassment wash over him.

Elizabeth joins him a few minutes later, and if the muffled gunshot was any indication to go by, then it’s just the two of them now - just Elizabeth and Reddington and the corpse of a woman who pretended to love him next door.

 

\--

 

Elizabeth gives him a compassionate smile paired with a truly awkward pat on his shoulder which makes him think that she wants him to take it slow after his recent misadventure with Jolene. But apparently, in Elizabeth’s book, _taking it slow_ means chasing a man who earns his living by orchestrating television-worthy accidents.

There’s a crashed car in a torrential river, a corrupt politician and a moving family tragedy; and at the end of the day Reddington collapses face-first into his bed.

If Elizabeth wanted to get his mind off Jolene, she succeeded amicably.

 

\--

 

There’s a man named after a town and he’s coming for Elizabeth.

And really, that should be his biggest problem - that someone is trying to sabotage her criminal empire. That someone is trying to take a shot at her and bring her down. It’s just that - unthinkably - there are even more alarming problems lining up at his doorstep.

Because all of a sudden the FBI is trying to revoke Elizabeth’s immunity deal, and if he doesn’t do _something_ they will take her in and lock her away, and Reddington has to go and make this right before- 

When it comes, the realization makes his stomach lurch:

He can’t lose her.

He simply _can’t_.

 

\--

 

Eventually, he finds her in a park, casually reading a book as if she were just another person basking in the late winter sun instead of a Most Wanted fugitive on the run from any and all governmental forces. There’s a pair of sunglasses perched low on her nose and above them, Reddington can just make out the piercing blue of her eyes, aloof and alert as always.

When she finally tilts her head to look up at him, Reddington feels his heart skip a beat even as he exhales a shaky breath. Because right now, with the light streaming down on her pale face and hair, illuminating her like a Renaissance painting, she looks positively radiant.

He doesn’t tell her what he feels for her. Not with so many FBI agents crawling like insects around them.

But he sure hopes that she can read between the lines.

 

\--

 

Later, Reddington marvels over the circumstance that a mere plane crash can somehow change the mind of a whole government institution when it comes to immunity deals.

(And of course there is also the image of Elizabeth kneeling before him, looking up at him with trusting eyes and a reassuring smile playing on her lips.)

He’s just getting changed in one of the locker rooms provided by the Post Office, swapping his sweat-drenched dress shirt for an equally expensive one (courtesy of his favorite Most Wanted criminal), when the door swings open and Elizabeth comes strolling into the changing room, seemingly without a care in the world.

And if he’s honest, then Reddington isn’t too surprised. Because only a few weeks ago, Donald had told him that she has done this before - cornered him in the men’s locker room down at the gym to give him a good talking-to about the negative side effects of taking prescribed medications (or at least that’s what he’s heard).

But still, this is different because Reddington isn’t one of the young, springy agents boldly flexing his muscles in the mirror, but rather--

Suppressing the urge to duck behind one of the lockers like an embarrassed teenager, Reddington slowly turns around to face her. He’s trying - and failing miserably - to act casual and confident. In the end, his trembling fingers almost tear the seams of his shirt in his desperate scramble to cover himself up.

What makes this whole situation even worse is that she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just keeps staring at him and with every second passes by without a joke or sarcastic comment or even a teasing _well, now we only need to clear up the boxers or briefs debate_ , Reddington’s heart picks up speed. Within seconds his mouth is painfully dry and his hands incredibly clammy.

When she finally speaks, Elizabeth’s voice is dark and venomous.

“Where did you get those scars?”

 “I don’t know. It must have been on some mission or other, years ago.”

Reddington scrunches up his face in thought. Funny, he thinks. Somehow he can’t quite remember where exactly he got them from.

Still, Elizabeth doesn’t look convinced. The scowl on her face tightens, leaving Reddington to wonder if she is merely displeased that he got hurt somewhere down the line without her knowing, or if maybe she simply finds them unattractive and disgusting.

(He rather hopes it’s the first.)

Deciding that once again the truth - if possibly unkind and hurtful - is better than not knowing, Reddington clears his throat and pushes further. “What is it?”

Elizabeth bites her lip in thought, and for a second he wonders if she’ll even grant him the courtesy of a reply or if she’ll simply walk out on him. But then her eyes flicker back to his face and Reddington draws in a sudden breath at how impossibly black they look, the blue of her eyes seemingly swallowed up completely.

“It means I’ve been lied to.”

In another instant, she has turned on her heels and fled the room, leaving him dazed and confused.

 

\--

 

Elizabeth disappears for a while and for a few restless nights, Reddington fears that they will send him back to his former job back in his pathetic, little down-in-the-far-end-corner office.

He dreads having to go back to that place.

But thankfully Elizabeth returns before anyone can even mention sending him back, and soon enough everything goes back to normal.

Or as normal as catching murdering psychopaths and Machiavellian politicians could possibly be, anyway.

 

\--

 

While the taskforce is busy chasing an assassin called Lord Baltimore, Elizabeth is kidnapped by an agent from Mossad. Apparently, Samar Navabi managed to track Elizabeth down based solely on her preference in shoes.

(Secretly, Reddington prays that this won’t change anything about her choice of footwear; he is rather fond of the elegant stilettos she usually wears.)

The next few cases all blur into one; there’s an armed robbery and a kidnapped employee with a photographic memory. A disgraced surgeon harvesting organs like weed, an underground hospital and atrocious human experiments. And then there’s a mad psychologist who turns his patients into killers.

It’s one long, long week, and Reddington wonders if Elizabeth would take him on a relaxing trip to the Seychelles if he asked politely enough.

 

\--

 

There’s an ancient clay painting in the wrong hands, an isolated pneumonic plague virus, and a vicious eco-terrorist looking to save the world by erasing all of mankind. And it’s truly strange, Reddington thinks, how this simple chain of cause-and-effect could ultimately lead to this: Two FBI agents sitting inside a locked room, slowly dying from a virus that should have run its course centuries ago.

Reddington is just beginning to feel the effects of the infection - an agonizing headache, clammy hands and short breath - when Donald stirs next to him.

“You know, I didn’t like you at first.”

Reddington wonders what one is supposed to say to that.

“Before all of this I had been hunting Keen for close to five years. It was my whole life. I just knew that if I finally caught up with her, then all the work, all the restless nights and constant traveling would have been worth it. But then-” He scoffs, shakes his head at himself.

“But then she just surrenders and asks for _you_ of all people. And I just thought fair enough. Some high-ranking Admiral - I can certainly lose to that. But then I found you sitting in that broom closet-”

“It wasn’t a broom closet.”

“-and it just felt so unfair. I didn’t know what she could possibly see in you.”

Reddington bites the inside of his cheek to ward off the burning sensation behind his eyes. Because it’s not as if he needs to be reminded of the fact that there are worlds between him and Elizabeth. He’s quite aware of that as it is.

Slowly but surely, the silence between them stretches and Reddington wonders if those will be the last words he hears before he’ll eventually succumb to the effects of the virus. But then Ressler shifts beside him, his voice low and hoarse when he finally speaks.

“I get it now.”

 

\--

 

Gradually returning to consciousness, Reddington opens his eyes to see Elizabeth frowning down at him. As far as sights go, it’s a particularly lovely one. Even if he’d rather see her smile than worry - and if his arms didn’t feel so heavy he’d reach out and touch her cheek, smooth his fingers over the distressed lines on her forehead.

She’s holding his hand, her fingers gently tracing the lines on the flat of his palm. It’s nice, Reddington thinks, even if it tickles a bit. He’d very much like to pull her close, too. But as it is he can barely manage to keep his eye open, and if he can’t even do that then he doesn’t want to think about further exerting himself by reaching out and pulling her against his chest.

“I’m still not getting any closer to the truth.”

He blinks, the effort of it screwing up his face. “What truth?”

“About the fire.”

“What fire?” He feels like a broken record. Well, no. He feels broken, period. And it’s just so hard to stay focused on the subject because if he’s honest, then all he wants to do is draw Elizabeth in close and go back to sleep. Reddington thinks that it would do her good, too. Maybe some sleep and a bit of cuddling would get rid of that worried frown on her face.

“I can’t seem to figure out if you were there or not. I don’t even know why you should have been. And I don’t know why you would lie about it either.”

Nodding absentmindedly, Reddington wonders if maybe her words would make more sense to a man not currently on the verge of drifting back to a drug-induced sleep. Or maybe this is simply an Elizabeth Keen kind of thing - the constant secrets and the not-making-sense.

Sensing that Elizabeth is waiting for a reply, Reddington gives a small nod of his head.

“Alright.”

Her eyes hold a mixture of mild annoyance and fondness, but Reddington thinks that everything will still turn out alright. Because when he drifts off to sleep only seconds later, it’s to the soothing sensation of Elizabeth’s fingers - so slender and impossibly soft - wrapped tightly around his own.

 

\--

 

There’s a small cartel with an alarming interest in stuffing humans like hunting trophies. They try it on Donald, too, and Reddington is taken aback by just how much he has come to care for his partner despite their admittedly rocky start.

But Donald is a tough one, so he manages to come out of it all alive.

Pathetically, Reddington inwardly preens at the fact that him and Elizabeth seem to have shared interests. Even if it’s not so much books or movies or music, but rather their mutual hatred of poachers and abusive relationships and chemical bio-weapons.

 

\--

 

The next Blacklister Elizabeth throws their way calls himself the Scimitar. To Reddington, this one feels a bit like occupational therapy. Because somehow, he can’t shake the impression that while the taskforce is hunting down a number of American scientists that are involved in a top-secret nuclear weapons programme, Elizabeth is occupied with extending her own criminal empire.

His suspicions are confirmed when Elizabeth stops by the Post Office to let him know that the whole Berlin business has been taken care of. And much to his surprise, Reddington feels immensely relieved at this new piece of information.

Because even though he should have taken Berlin in, arrested him and have him stand trial like any other criminal, Reddington would rather know Elizabeth safe and sound. So if the man who had been attacking her criminal empire left and right is now six feet under the earth? Well, in Reddington’s book that is news worth celebrating.

 

\--

 

When Jennifer had called him that morning, frantically barking at him to _turn on the TV goddammit_ , his first thought had been that maybe he was simply missing another portrait on her law firm (like the one time he hadn’t managed to tape their first television commercial). But instead, the first image he sees is of Elizabeth Keen - captured and handcuffed - winking saucily into the camera as she’s being led away by a group of heavily armed men in military gear.

Suddenly, he finds it impossible to breath.

His arm falls limply to his side, Jennifer’s worried voice still sounding distantly through the speaker.

“Is she alright? I saw it this morning and I thought about you. What will-”

He brings the phone back to his ear. “I have to go, sweetheart. I’ll call you later.”

Before he knows it, he’s out the door and on a plane and inside a hidden Blacksite somewhere in the middle of the Bering Sea.

 

\--

 

Around them, the world is ending.

Reddington doesn’t know if any of the others are still alive, if there even is a point in going on anymore, or if they are doomed already. But despite the direness of their circumstances, all that seems to matter to him now is that Elizabeth remains safe and alive.

“I once read about this fish in Mexico that have colonized the freshwater caves along Sierra del Abra. They were lost. They found themselves living in complete darkness. But they didn’t die. Instead, they thrived. They adapted. They lost their pigmentation, their sight, eventually even their eyes. With survival, they became hideous.”

He pauses, swallows past the lump in his throat. 

“I’ve rarely thought about what life was like before you. But I wonder if a ray of light were to make it into the cave, would I be able to see it? Or feel it? Would I gravitate to its warmth? And if I did, would I become less hideous?”

 

\--

 

And just like that everything comes to an end.

It’s all so sudden and devastatingly unexpected, and to Reddington the feeling is a bit like being forcefully woken from a particularly pleasant dream.

Because Elizabeth is dying in his arms, and there is nothing he can do to make her stay. He has rarely felt so powerless, and when it comes, the realization hits him hard: He can’t go on without her. He simply can’t. Because she is his adventure, his second chance, and what would be even do without her by his side?

His hands tremble against the impossibly pale skin of her face where his fingers are futilely trying to wipe away the smears of blood and dirt covering her cheeks. It’s a silly thing to be upset about, but he simply cannot focus on the fact that her chest isn’t rising and falling anymore. Because thinking about that would undoubtedly break him.

It’s probably for the best that Braxton’s men corner him then, that they drag him away from Elizabeth’s lifeless body, because he honestly doesn’t know what he’d have done had he stayed.

Torn between a feeling of utter devastation and the ever-growing rage to destroy, a desire to see the world _burn_ for what it has done to Elizabeth, Reddington finds himself being hauled into what appears to be a control room. Braxton is there, a vicious smirk on his grim face as he asks him where Elizabeth is.

It’s hard to get the words past his lips, to tell him that Elizabeth is dead, that she isn’t coming back no matter what he’d give to see her again - her eyes full of light and a mischievous smile on her lips.

But then the door is flung open and in strides Elizabeth, looking positively deadly and at the same time so beautifully _alive_. Relief floods his body, and Reddington can almost believe that things will turn out alright after all, that they will make it out of this alive. That he’ll get a chance to tell her how important she is to him, and how lonely and lost he had felt when he had believed her dead.

But then there’s a loud noise - an explosion that leaves nothing but destruction and scorched remains in its wake. When everything goes black, Reddington prays that Elizabeth is alright.

 

\--

 

When he comes to, Reddington is strapped to a chair and there’s so much water in his lungs, and a tingling sensation somewhere in the back of his mind that he has been in this position before, going through torture and pain and then sleep and--

They hypnotize him.

Although his lungs are still full of water from Braxton’s earlier attempts to torture him, now there is also a sharp swell of smoke in his eyes, and fire prickling away at his skin.

When he closes his eyes, Reddington finds himself inside a house, its stale floorboards creaking beneath his weight as he slowly makes his way through a corridor stretching out in front of him. It’s almost impossible to see past the rivulets of smoke rising up from the blazing flames, and the fire itself is so painfully bright and blinding that he has trouble keeping his eyes open.

Right now, he would give anything to just turn around and leave this place. But he can’t. Not until--

To his right, Reddington can just make out two bodies lying sprawled on the floor, their faces painted black from the swirling ashes. Reddington ignores them, walks right past them. Everything is so hot; Reddington thinks that he’ll never feel cold again. He is burning up from the inside; it’s utterly unbearable.

But still he moves on, ventures deeper into the house, beams breaking down behind him, tables and shelves and walls crumbling all around him.

He can’t turn back, not until--

Somewhere in the distance there’s a rising sound - a child crying for help, sounding so desperate and broken that it makes his heart clench with pity and guilt. Stumbling on, Reddington follows the noise, thinks that right here, right now, it’s the most beautiful sound in the world - because even though listening to it hurts unfathomably, it means that there is still life inside of these collapsing ruins.

That there is still something that can be saved, something good and pure to behold.

Stopping before a tiny closet, his gloved fingers wrap around the wooden doorknob and carefully twist it to the side. The door opens slowly, and there - crouching pitifully in front of him, a terrified look in her eyes and a burnt stuffed bunny clutched against her chest is-

“Elizabeth.” He gasps, his eyes opening wide.

She’s looking at him, years older but still the same, and Reddington has never thought that life was fair, but in that moment it isn’t unfair either because here she stands, all grown-up and healthy and _alive_.

Her hands are trembling against the side of his face, gently stroking his cheeks and brushing the tears from his eyes. There is so much he wants to tell her, no - _needs_ to tell her. There is _I know you_ and _you found me_ and _don’t leave me ever again_ , but somehow the words die in his mouth before he can successfully wrap his tongue around the shape of them.

Above him, Elizabeth smiles sadly. “I know, Red. I know.”

 

\--

 

That evening, she drops him off at his place.

Throughout the ride, he finds it almost impossible to keep his eyes off her. Especially knowing that this is the same woman - _girl_ \- whom he had first met over twenty years ago. It’s hard to reconcile the image of the scared little wisp of a girl with the strong and devastatingly brilliant woman sitting right next to him.

When Elizabeth’s driver stops the car Reddington doesn’t move. Instead, he watches as the man climbs up the stairs to his brownstone - possibly to check his apartment for any lingering threats. Averting his eyes from his home, Reddington looks back to Elizabeth sitting quietly beside him. Apparently, she’s lost in thought, her eyes unfocused and dreamy.

Neither of them had said anything ever since they left Braxton’s little torture chamber and Elizabeth hissed at Donald to let Reddington leave with her.

Secretly, he wonders if they will ever talk to each other again, or if maybe they have moved past the conventions of ordinary human interaction. Because what could there possibly be left to say between them? After all that had happened, after their recent revelations?

Suddenly, Elizabeth squeezes his hand. Reddington marvels at the sight of her small hand clasped tightly in his own. It feels so natural, too. As if they are meant to hold on to each other, come what may.

With a bashful smile, Reddington looks back up at her - and just in time, too. Because only seconds later, Elizabeth leans in and closes the distance between them. When her lips finally touch his - so soft and sweet and pliable - Reddington thinks that this is the culmination of that adventure he had been waiting for all his life.

(It was worth the wait though.)

 

\--

 

Reddington had thought that their kiss would change everything, but all it did was make things more awkward between them.

She purposely avoids him now, even going so far as to send them on a _field trip_. And when Reddington finds himself on the next plane to Uzbekistan of all places, he can’t quite shake the feeling that she is trying to get rid of him. As if she is trying to push him away and re-establish the old boundaries of their relationship, sending them back to what they were before: A beat-up Admiral past his prime on loan to the FBI, and a Most Wanted criminal of the most intriguing kind, vibrant and lively and out of his reach.

But when she does show up after all, charming a group of oil tycoons and sharply-dressed business men right there in the hotel lobby, he is shocked at how different she appears. She seems so unlike her usual self, and Reddington inwardly cringes at her overly cheerful demeanor and manic smile.

In a desperate attempt to win her back, Reddington tries to remember how one goes about wooing a woman. He compliments her hair and makes sure to engage her in a conversation whenever they cross paths. Mostly, he tries to stick to save topics: work and the weather (and doesn’t that constant cold-winter flush on her cheeks make her look positively breathtaking?).

He even makes a fool out of himself by waiting for her at the bar for the better part of their first evening in town, half-heartedly sipping at one drink after the other while his eyes keep flickering back to the door. Deep down, he knows that she won’t show up, but love doesn’t leave any room for pride, so he just keeps on waiting. Thankfully, Donald doesn’t say anything. He just keeps him company throughout the night, and Reddington thinks that this is as close to a blessing as he’ll get from him.

Still, he stops trying after that.

A week later, there’s the Kenyon family, and Reddington finds himself bound to a rusty garden chair by a bunch of savage children and teenagers. It’s all a bit surreal, like some twisted version of Peter Pan, only that he is about to die if he doesn’t find a way to stop any of this.

He’s still nursing the angry red rope marks on his wrists when a case from his past resurfaces. Well, it wasn’t so much _his_ case as something that landed on his desk - a case gone cold which he had to file accordingly.

But now there are mutilated men - their lifeless bodies hung and dissected like common prey, and Reddington feels a unexpected surge of excitement at the prospect of solving this case at long last.

Elizabeth doesn’t seem to mind his request. In fact, he suspects that she secretly likes that he is taking a more active part in their little game of cat-and-mouse-and-criminal. After all, she is always encouraging him to pursue their Blacklisters a bit more enthusiastically, heartily imploring him to think more like a criminal rather than an Admiral.

(He does an alarmingly impressive job at it, too.)

Once the deer hunter is safely behind bars, Reddington meets with Elizabeth in a small café, their bare fingers wrapped around a warming cup of coffee. He is careful to tug his scarf close around his neck, because even though the hunter’s strangulation marks on his neck match the ones on his wrists, he’d rather not let Elizabeth see.

Next to him, Elizabeth scowls in annoyance. “I really thought the deer hunter was a man.”

“You weren’t wrong though.” He says, shrugs his shoulders. “Together we were right.”

 

\--

 

Tom Keen cries wolf and of course Elizabeth comes running.

Their meeting doesn’t end quite the way she had expected it to, though. Two criminals walk into an elegant manor – only one goes free. Unfortunately, it’s the wrong criminal though, and once again Reddington finds himself slipping on a tux to go undercover.

This time, he is partaking in an illegal auction. There are breathtaking works of art stacked against priceless Ming vases and Grecian statues. And amidst all of these invaluable treasures is the most beautiful of them all.

(When he first spots her in the great auction hall, the air hitches painfully in his throat. Despite the situation, the smile playing on her lips looks so self-assured. So fearless. Reddington fears that he will never be able to put down in words just how much he admires her.)

Unfortunately, the auction goes awry halfway through - his cover is blown all too soon, and once again Elizabeth has to step in and save his life. In the end, Reddington hastily slips out of the room to the sounds of a laughing crowd that’s endlessly amused by Elizabeth’s cheeky attempts to outbid a Cameroonian warlord from upon the stage.

 

\--

 

He saves her life that night.

The sound of his name tumbling as a broken whisper from her lips is still echoing in his ears when he closes the distance between them and kisses her in the backseat of her car.

Outside, the police lights are flashing.

 

\--

 

A bit breathlessly, Reddington stares at Elizabeth from across the kitchen table and thinks that this whole scene is unsettlingly domestic. It’s strange to see her in his kitchen, contently eating the toast he’s prepared for breakfast. Because even though she has been over to his place before, it’s still eerie and strange to see her like this: smooth, naked legs stretched out leisurely in front of her, wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of expensive lace panties.

Nevertheless, despite their newfound intimacy, he still feels as if there are miles between them. As if he’s a mere spectator in their own relationship. She rarely tells him everything, and it never fails to throw him off-kilter, this constant imbalance of power between them.

“How’s your daughter?”

His head snaps up, her words visibly taking him by surprise. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate her concern, not at all. But they rarely talk about personal matters, it’s mostly just work and crime and - if she’s feeling particularly flirty - his supposedly good looks.

“She’s fine. Great, actually. I think she’s meeting for dinner with her mother and her new fiancé tonight - Tom Connolly, I think his name is.”

As it turns out, looking down to butter his toast was a mistake because it causes him to miss the sudden look of fear that flashes across her face.

“I haven’t met him yet, but Carla called the other day to let me know that she-”

Before he can even finish his sentence, Elizabeth abruptly jumps up and hurriedly slips her arms into her coat.

“I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

Fastening the belt of her coat to hide her state of undress, Elizabeth leans down and presses a chaste kiss to his temple before rushing out the door.

Sitting all alone in his kitchen, the remnants of their shared breakfast lying mostly untouched on the table in front of him, Reddington wonders if it was something he said.

 

\--

 

He’s just about to leave the Post Office, when he receives a call from Jennifer.

“Dad!” She cries, her voice wavering between elation and exasperation. “I was just getting some lunch with Mom when Elizabeth showed up. She asked Mom to come with her – now, I’m not saying that Elizabeth kidnapped her, but it’d be a hard case to argue.”

 

\--

 

Thankfully, Elizabeth’s driver has the sense to give him her current location (Reddington only had to ask him twice - he was clearly making progress), and twenty minutes later, Reddington pulls up outside an isolated hunting cabin.

He briefly wonders if the cabin belongs to Elizabeth, if she owns this place solely for - what, torture and interrogation purposes? Something inside of him bristles at the thought, desperately hoping that he was going to find Elizabeth and his ex-wife chatting amicably, maybe drinking tea and laughing at his expense.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Reddington reaches out for the doorknob. He stops dead when Carla’s voice drifts through the cabin’s walls.

“- at first it was just small things. They didn’t ask for a lot. They just wanted to know if he slept alright, if he had frequent nightmares. If he ever spoke in his sleep.”

Carla pauses, and Reddington just knows that she is running her hand through her hair - a nervous tick that he had once found endearing.

“I didn’t think it would do any harm to have them know, I thought maybe they were just checking up on him after one of his missions. So I told them. I told them anything they wanted to know, and in return they paid for Jennifer’s law school. We needed the money - especially after they stopped sending him out on missions.

“But then their demands got less… manageable. I got scared. It was just too much, and I couldn’t take it anymore. There was nothing in that relationship left for me to hold on to.”

“So you left?” Elizabeth’s voice sounds as cold as he feels.

“It was the right thing to do.”

His stomach turns. It’s Jolene Parker all over, only that this hurts much more - impossibly so, and Reddington honestly doesn’t know if he can possibly recover from this. If there will ever be a point in time when the thought of his ex-wife’s betrayal won’t make him wither up inside like a flower ripped from its earthen bed.

His head is still spinning when the door opens. Reflexively, Reddington takes a step back - just in time to keep Elizabeth from crashing into him on her way out.

A startled gasp falls from her lips, but as soon as she realizes that it’s him - and that he has likely eavesdropped on her conversation with Carla - her face pales. She looks surprisingly scared, guilty even. With an effort, Reddington suppresses the rising urge to wrap her up in his arms and reassure her that everything will be alright - that _they_ will be alright.

Hesitantly, Elizabeth reaches out to him - her hand trembling slightly - but Reddington stumbles back.

The rejection burning in her eyes etches itself into his mind even as he turns on his heels and leaves.

 

\--

 

He’s drowning his worries in a glass of cheap scotch when suddenly, Elizabeth is standing in the middle of his living room. She must have picked the lock, or maybe he hadn’t locked the door properly in the first place. It doesn’t really matter either, because now she’s here and even though he is still furious with her he just can’t find it in him to send her away.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is so soft that he has to strain his ears to even catch her words. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. That’s why I didn’t tell you about any of it.”

“And you what? Thought that not telling me would somehow keep me from getting hurt?”

He spits the words out, finding himself torn between a hot-burning anger and some twisted satisfaction at watching her flinch. But then he remembers Tom Keen, remembers the bruise on her collarbone and the lost look in her eyes, and it’s all he can do not to fall to his knees in front of her and beg forgiveness.

“Lizzy, I’m sorry-”

Her head snaps up. “You never call me that.”

She pauses, and Reddington wonders if she’s recalling those moments inside the Box, Anslo Garrick and Jennifer and _He calls you Lizzy_.

“It’s nice though. I like it.”

Elizabeth sighs and slowly takes a hesitant step forward as if he’s a wild animal she doesn’t want to spook.

“I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. But before I do, I just wanted to make sure that you’re alright. After what you’ve found out today, I just wanted to let you know that…”

She takes a deep breath, visibly gathering her courage.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Red. In fact, I think you’re quite perfect.”

 

\--

 

Hoping that work will distract him from recent revelations, Reddington pesters Elizabeth into giving them a new Blacklister.

Long-sufferingly – as if put out upon by his sudden surge in motivation and enthusiasm – Elizabeth  reluctantly draws their attention to a man who searched for the fountain of youth, but got impatient somewhere down the line. The shortcut he decided to take is plastered with brightly glowing jellyfish and the decaying remains of human corpses.

Afterwards comes Vanessa Cruz, a vengeful widow with blood on her hands.

And Reddington is surprised to find that all of this becomes easier; all the running for his life, the constant rush of adrenaline racing through his veins and ringing in his ears. And above it all is the indisputable certainty that no matter hopeless a situation might initially seem, he can always count on Elizabeth to have his back.

So far, she has never failed him.

Over time, his confidence grows. So much so that Reddington can almost imagine that when Elizabeth looks at him now, she sees a man whom she can respect.

A partner in crime.

Her equal.

 

\--

 

But then Elizabeth is bleeding out right before his eyes, a burning red seeping through the coat he is frantically pressing against her shoulder, and Reddington curses himself for believing for even a single moment that there could possibly be any happiness for him in life.

Still grasping his hand tightly in hers, Elizabeth sends him off to find a man named Leonard Caul, even though all Reddington wants to do is stay by her side, brush the errant strays of hair out of her panic-stricken eyes and beg her not to leave him (the words feel like cotton in his mouth, _don’t go_ – _please don’t go_ ). Because he _needs_ her; why won’t she understand that?

In the end, her doctor ushers him out with an annoyed glare and a forceful shove, and Reddington decides that leaving to do as Elizabeth had asked was much preferable to simply standing outside the makeshift surgery room in an otherwise empty warehouse, helplessly listening to the grief-stricken buzz of the machines.

Half an hour later, Reddington opens the door to the address she had provided him with right before slipping into unconsciousness. As he enters the small flat, a wave of unimaginable belonging sweeps over him. The room smells like Elizabeth’s perfume, so light and elegant. Homely.

Quietly closing the door behind him, Reddington ventures further into the apartment. It’s nothing special, really, and if he hadn’t known that it belonged to Elizabeth he might have mistaken it for the home of any other woman in her early 30s.

There is a shelf with novels and little trinkets – all carefully dusted. Some clothes lie strewn over a couch, and Reddington chuckles in surprise as he takes a closer look at them and finds not her usual designer dresses, but a cozy hoodie and sweatpants.

And then there’s a picture - a single, carefully framed photograph standing lonely on the couch’s side table. Its edges are worn with age, and the image itself is slightly faded, the colors nothing but a hazy blur of bright spots.

Still, Reddington can easily make out two shapes; that of a young girl with a gloomy smile, and an older man, his hazel eyes framed by worried lines.

Reddington scrunches his face up in thought. For some reason, he can’t shake the impression that the man in the picture looks eerily familiar. There’s a tickling sensation at the back of his mind, as if it was urging him to remember something.

And it’s strange, but Reddington is almost sure that he knows exactly what the stranger’s voice would sound like: hoarse and slightly gruff from too many cigars.

Inexplicably, Reddington finds himself drawn to a video tape labelled _Last Moments_ and - still wondering at the title - Reddington pops it into the ancient video player on the shelf, and watches as a grainy version of Elizabeth appears on the television screen. She looks years younger though, 27 - maybe 28. At the sight, Reddington feels a powerful surge of protectiveness sweep over him.

She is sitting next to a hospital bed, tears streaming down her cheeks as her hands desperately clutch at the patient’s hands. Despite the quality of the tape, Reddington can clearly see that she is trembling quite a bit.

Reddington has never seen her so lost, so broken before. It’s hard to reconcile this image of Elizabeth with the woman he knows; she is always so strong and resilient.

Seeing her like this - raw and vulnerable - breaks his heart.

His fingers are already inching back towards the off-button when the man on the screen starts to speak in a gravelly whisper.

“Promise me you’ll be careful, butterball.”

On the screen, Elizabeth gives a jerky nod of her head.

“I don’t know nearly enough to tell you any of this. It’s like playing a game without knowing the rules.” He coughs, and Reddington’s fingers twitch against his thigh with the sudden urge to reach out to him. Years ago, Elizabeth seemed to feel the same, for on the screen her grasp on the man’s hand tightens, as if she could stave off death by simply holding on stubbornly enough.

“But I still did everything I could to protect you. To keep you save. Please don’t ever think that I regret taking you in.”

Elizabeth gives him a watery smile, her voice impossibly soft. “Even though I turned out like this?”

The man returns her smile, if looking somewhat pained.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you. If I could have a say in any of this you’d be working for the FBI right now. Happily married, too. Maybe even with a child on the way.”

All of a sudden he sobers up and the smile falls from his face. “If it hadn’t been for the cancer…”

_Oh_.

But _of course_.

And just like that it dawns on him; that this right here was the reason for Elizabeth’s turn towards darkness. For her, it had never been about money or power, but rather about the suffocating fear of losing a loved one. A desperate soul searching frantically for a way to hold on to her father for just a bit longer.

“But just because my hopes for you are something else from where you are now doesn’t mean that I’m not proud of you, butterball.”

His words are followed by a long silence during which Reddington briefly fears that the man has died. But thankfully, he speaks up again before the feeling of loss can spread any further through his heart and mind.

Still, this time, his words feel like a punch to his stomach.

“If you want to know the truth, you’ll have to look for Raymond Reddington.”

 

\--

 

Eventually, Reddington manages to find Leonard Caul. Which turns out to be a double-edged sword; because even though Caul is willing to help him save Elizabeth, he also tells him that there is war ahead.

Caul tells him of a secret shadow government called the Cabal - a group of powerful men and women who are pulling the strings behind the scenes.

And apparently, Elizabeth has come to be a thorn in their side.

 

\--

 

For a while, things return to normal.

There’s a man who turns death into a perverse form of art. The gruesome images of the mutilated corpses are almost enough to take his mind off Elizabeth. He hasn’t seen her in a few days, but (after he had called her 8 times in one evening) Mr. Kaplan phoned to inform him that she is doing just fine and will resume her job as the bane of the FBI’s existence at her earliest convenience.

Once Elizabeth returns to the Post Office, Reddington finds himself chasing a Blacklister called Karakurt - a man who uses a deadly biochemical weapon that is transferred through a single touch. Which should be a complicated mess of a case as it is already, but then Reddington is infected and framed for murdering a U.S. Senator.

And of course there is also Tom Connolly – Carla’s fiancé and much to Reddington’s surprise, a ruthlessly cunning man who tries to get rid of him.

Now, if Reddington could only figure out _why_.

 

\--

 

“You should be thankful, Reddington.”

Connolly grins smugly, and Reddington can feel his blood run cold.

“Just think how this story would have gone if the Cabal had decided to take actions against you? They would have taken your family - Carla and dear Jennifer. You would have come home to a right bloodbath.”

He gives a cold laugh, clearly unaffected by his own words.

“This way was much more humane. After you had acted out - almost gone rogue - they simply tweaked your memory. Made you forget about it all.” He snaps his fingers. “And it made you stay on the right track, too. Mind you, they still had to make sure it wouldn’t happen again, but that’s what the desk job was for. A nice, steady life and a comfortable office job.”

“They stuck me in a broom closet.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

Uncaringly, Connolly gives a shrug of his shoulders. “Besides, none of that matters now. Four hours from now, I’ll be on that stage over there announcing that my office has secured an indictment against the members of a rogue task force.”

There’s a moment of pause in which he takes a deep breath, clearly savoring his next words. 

“You’re going to prison, Admiral. And Donald Ressler? His little oxy addiction will get him drummed out of the bureau. Samar Navabi will be extradited to Iran. We’ll even find something for Agent Mojtabai.

“We have a little something in mind for each of you, including treason and the death penalty for Elizabeth Keen.”

And really, Reddington thinks with a disbelieving huff of a laugh, had Connolly seriously expected him to sit back and keep quiet after a threat like that?

 

\--

 

So of course, Reddington shoots him then.

Draws the gun and takes aim and it’s over in a matter of seconds.

Throwing one last look at the lifeless body of the Attorney General laying sprawled on the floor, Reddington slips out of the building and onto the street. Surprisingly, he doesn’t feel too agitated. In fact, he feels rather calm. At peace with life for once.

With steady hands, Reddington palms his phone out of his pocket and calls Jennifer to leave a message on her voicemail. He keeps it short and simple, just tells her that she needn’t worry about him. That he’ll be fine.

(Nowadays, he always is.)

Next, he calls Elizabeth. She picks up on the first ring, and he briefly wonders if she had been waiting for this call.

“Elizabeth! I’m glad I caught you. I just had the most vexing quarrel with-”

She scoffs, but Reddington is pleased to note that she doesn’t sound angry. Instead, her tone sounds vaguely amused. “ _Quarrel_? Seriously?”

He smirks, feels the beginnings of a whole-hearted laugh bubble up inside of him. And it’s strange, it really is. Because he just shot a man and there is nothing even remotely funny about any of this.

And yet...

“Where are you now?” Elizabeth asks. “I’ll come and pick you up.”

It’s only minutes later that her car pulls up outside the little park she had directed him to. As it comes to a halt, Elizabeth slips out of the backseat, and then the car is driving off again. Reddington briefly wonders where they will be going from here, if she’s got a plan up her sleeve, or if she’ll simply make it up along the way.

Still, Reddington trusts her completely.

Elizabeth straightens up, brushes the front of her elegant Chanel dress before finally looking in his direction. Their eyes meet, and for a brief moment Reddington wonders what she must be seeing when she looks at him. If she can see past the expensive three-piece suit and darkly-swirled Zegna ties, past the matching fedora and the tinted sunglasses. Past the confident spark in his eyes and the self-assured smirk playing on his lips.

Past this newfound devil-may-care attitude.

There’s a sudden flash of fear clenching at his heart as he considers the very real possibility that she might not like the man he has become.

But then she throws her head back and laughs, and Reddington can’t remember the last time he felt this young and reckless.

_Free_.

 

\--

 

“I guess this is as close to riding into the sunset as we’ll ever get.” Elizabeth says, her words sounding slightly slurred from sleep. Careful not to disturb her dozing, Reddington turns his head and presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head where it rests comfortably against his shoulder.

“I don’t think I ever cared about a happy ending. I was more set on the whole adventure part coming right before.” He says, his face scrunching up in thought. “You gave me that.”

Next to him, Elizabeth hums appreciatively.

“I told you we’d make a great team.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and criticism is always very welcome and much appreciated.


End file.
